Mayan Darkness (A Hank Boyd Adventure Book 2) (The Hank Boyd Adventures)

by Matthew James

  Blinding pain shot through Kane’s hand as Brooks compressed the already compromised bones, and yanked, pitching Kane forward, straight into one of Brooks’ own elbow strikes.

  The combination of the piercing white-hot agony he felt in his massively damaged hand and the solid blow to his head almost made Kane vomit. Brooks yanked again, making him stumble before he was spun and thrown, right into three screaming teenagers.

  On his second roll, Kane crashed into their legs…and kept right on going, slamming to the hard unforgiving ground.

  Coming to rest on his back, Kane looked up in what seemed like slow-motion and witnessed the wailing forms of the three girls landing on his chest and falling apart on impact.

  Kane froze, staring at the roof above, not wanting to look back down at his own body. But he didn’t have time to mourn right now. He needed to fight. He needed to win. That’s what he was taught in the army.

  Thinking back to his days in the Rangers, Kane refocused and thought about what he needed to do. It would be damned tough to beat Brooks one-on-one with his hand in the shape it was. He needed an edge, something Brooks wouldn’t see coming.

  He leaned up, just enough to see over his toes, and saw Brooks standing ten feet away. He didn’t have time to dawdle, he knew Brooks well enough to know he would pounce on him any second.

  It’s then he noticed an aberration just under his line of sight. He leaned up a little more and saw the anomaly for what it was.

  Clothes. Lots of clothes.

  “And this is why I didn’t want to look,” Kane mumbled to himself, seeing the pile of laundry splayed across his chest and mid-section. Using his fingers like a set of tweezers, he cautiously picked up a random shirt, a bra coming with it. He inspected the article of clothing and the undergarment doing his best not to heave inside of his helmet.

  He also felt something prodding him in the back and reached underneath himself, grabbing the thing, yanking it free of his weight. Kane brought the item up to his face, looking at the stiletto heel with disgust as he gagged.

  Then, something inside Kane snapped. Seeing the ash-covered clothes atop him, then the high heel under him, was enough. He brushed the clothes off and went to stand, but was caught off guard by what he saw.

  There, covering him from head to toe, were the ashes of the three women he had rolled into. He was literally covered in the remains of the dead. It’s like he just strolled through a crematorium, entering in a clean black suit, and leaving in gray tones.

  As he reeled from the revelation that he was lying in these women’s ashes, a set of strong hands grasped his neck and started to haul him up. Knowing it was Brooks, Kane let the other man use his strength to bring him to his knees, feigning defeat.

  Brooks’ grip loosened just long enough for Kane to roll back onto his feet and spring up, driving the crown of his hard plastic helmet into the less protected chin of his adversary. He struck, a muffled grunt of pain emanated from Brooks, and then a clearer shout, as the man’s helmet came free. Dazed from the quick and highly unorthodox attack, Brooks back-peddled, shaking his head.

  Now helmetless and extremely vulnerable, Brooks’ eyes went wide. He frantically scanned his surroundings and only found a few people left alive, stumbling around the food court, none of them whole.

  Calming, if only a little, Brooks turned and searched for Kane through his malice-filled glare. He found the man but didn’t take notice of him for long. There was something else that caught his attention, something unusual.

  Flying through the air, rotating like a Frisbee was a… Is that a bra? It was so far out of left field and confusing that Brooks didn’t even try to avoid it, letting it land atop his head, just like James Bond did to the hat rack in Moneypenny’s office.

  Brooks was showered in dust when it landed.

  What the hell? He froze. No, not dust… it was—

  He couldn’t finish his thought. He didn’t have the ability to think anymore. The biologic had already begun to eat away at his brain, having chewed through his skull in seconds.

  His eyes started to twitch involuntarily, followed by his limbs, as his body’s movements were no long longer his to control. Next, nerve impulses were being interrupted and then set off again by the attack, firing away at random. Then, his muscles tensed, not letting his dying body fall.

  Kane got to his feet and just stood there, watching as his former friend was eaten alive. He watched as the man was dissolved by the remains of the ancient and deadly asshole that was Nannot. From one to another, he thought, Brooks’ head already gone. All that was left was a small pile of ash, sitting atop a set of quickly disintegrating shoulders.

  He witnessed the man’s upper body shrivel up from the inside out, his clothes sagging and then caving in on themselves as their support disappeared.

  Kane turned away before the darkness reached Brooks’ waist. He couldn’t watch anymore.

  He solemnly sauntered over to where he placed his gun, picking it up, and heard movement behind him. His instincts took over and he turned around, weapon raised, thrusting it towards where the disturbance originated.

  Did Brooks bring a friend?

  Someone was definitely alive, though, and Kane could use someone to beat senseless, his body still shaking from its recent adrenaline spike.

  A figure slowly started to rise from behind the Taco Bell counter, hands raised. Immediately, Kane knew this person wasn’t a threat. First, they were a foot shorter than him and secondly they were unarmed. Two more figures stood, these being at least three feet shorter than him.

  Flowing down Kane’s shielded face, absorbing into the foam lining of his helmet, was a single tear, as the mother and two children from before stared back at him. Alive. The ash must not have made it this far, and another tear fell, this one of joy at seeing the family safe.

  A noise from above, followed by a scream, drew Kane’s attention, turning him around back, towards the stairs leading to street level. He raised his Desert Eagle, looking at the thin film of ash coating the weapon. He wanted to wipe down and clean his old friend, but this wasn’t the time.

  “Thank you.”

  Kane turned his head, seeing the woman clutching her children, but staring at him. He simply nodded his head, and said, “Don’t move until a clean-up crew arrives. You should be safe for now.” He then turned, and quickly walked to the stairs, not wanting to make a picnic out of it. Plus, he needed to find his friends.

  Each step caused his body pain, but it was better than being dead. His knees ached by the time he reached the main floor of the Union Station shopping district and what he saw made his heart drop.

  Everything was covered in ash. He was so focused on his brawl with Brooks that he hadn’t noticed what else was going on. Come to think of it, he had barely noticed the screaming and shouting of the people downstairs in the food court with him. The tunnel vision he experienced shut off all other non-essential distractions. It’s what made him such a good soldier, it helped him think while under heavy fire in the field. It kept him focused.

  Like Colombia.

  It’s where all of this started. His and Frost’s injuries. Frost disappearing, only to return as an angry, hate-filled loon. He just didn’t know when Brooks turned.

  Not that it matters now.

  He stood still as the night, noticing another awful oddity. There was clothing everywhere.

  Just like Jaina, he thought. Except, that was thirty-or-so people, this was hundreds… Maybe more.

  After shaking off the goosebumps caused by the notion that these clothes literally fell off the people who had been wearing them, he stepped forward and, as his boot landed, a loud boom roared through the mall, knocking some of the ash from the walls. The sound echoed through the corridor, making it hard for him to figure out where it came from.

  “Sheeeit.”

  But he knew exactly where it came from, remembering the weapon he gave to Nicole. She actually used it—inside the train station.

&
nbsp; Begrudgingly, Kane broke into a sprint, heading for the Amtrak gates and hopefully to his very much alive friends.

  42

  Union Station

  Washington D.C., USA

  BOOM!

  The ground shakes and furniture flies as Nicole’s lone grenade detonates directly behind the two men ahead of us. Immediately following the blast is a fireball of heat and smoke, flowing by our position behind the departure sign, scorching everything in its path.

  I peek out from behind our now melted and disabled cover. Satisfied with what I see, I yell, “Clear!” And step out, shotgun at the ready, just in case someone else decides to poke his ass into our business.

  Nicole follows, skirting around the other side of the sign, SCAR up, prepared for anything. The two remaining local cops come up fast behind us and—

  It's then I get a whiff of the air. The smell of roasting flesh wafts through the concourse making me… Gag. If I had a shirt collar—of which I don’t—I would hold it over my nose, filtering the air. But I can’t since I’m wearing my helmet. It may be protecting me from turning to ash, but it does nothing to ward off the noxious odor I’m smelling now.

  Lucky for me the whole room is burning and the scent of broiling chairs and carpet help mask the smell of well-done man-meat. Extra well, I think as I hurry forward, inspecting the carnage brought on by the opposing force.

  What’s left of both men are exactly like I thought they’d be…original recipe…extra crispy. The black uniforms are burnt and charred, and there is a hole in the wall that was behind them, adding to the explosion’s energy. I can see clean through it to the next set of gates.

  “Damn,” I say, looking over to Nicole. She’s a few steps back, not at all interested in the bodies. No, she’s looking past me, deeper into the entrance these two guys were guarding.

  “Why here?” She asks rhetorically, walking forward rifle up, finger hovering just over the trigger. Then she turns back to me, formally asking me the question she just asked herself. “Why were they guarding this platform?”

  I shrug…unless. “Frost?”

  This time, she’s the one who shrugs.

  I turn and take a step forward, peering through the walkway’s opening, never lowering my weapon. I lead, my barrel pointing the way, index finger ready to twitch and release another burst of the steel slugs in my fresh twenty round drum.

  I step onto the platform and freeze, listening for anything that would hint of Frost’s whereabouts. Hearing nothing but the hum of the overhead fluorescents, I move forward, stepping heel-to-toe, trying to make as little noise as possible.

  A shape steps up next to me. I glance to my right, seeing the barrel of Nicole’s SCAR. I don’t need to see the weapon’s wielder know it’s her. Nicole, as always, is right beside me in the thick of it.

  We approach the rear of the train, sitting idle, having been locked down by Kane before we even entered the building. The only problem with that is if Frost wanted to take one, all he’d have to do is force a conductor to move out.

  Which is what is going to happen, I think, recalling the two gunmen protecting this gate. Why else would they have stopped here?

  Pausing, I place my hand on Nicole’s shoulder, halting her advance. I lean in closer, whispering my thoughts, her eyes and weapon never leaving the platform ahead of us.

  As I relay my suspicions and worries, my eyes pick up on something past Nicole’s head. Through the slightly tinted window, I see people. Dozens of them. They sit as if waiting for the train cars to move at any moment.

  And then they do.

  There’s a clunk of metal, and a slight squeal from below, as the car next to us, along with the cars ahead, start forward, slowly picking up momentum.

  “Damnit!” I yell, diving for the rear of the train, grasping onto the ladder. I quickly climb up a few rungs as Nicole throws herself onto the bottom few just under me.

  I reach the top quickly, the train picking up speed, and spin around on my hands-and-knees, ready to help Nicole if necessary.

  “Hank!”

  I look down, seeing Nicole safe, feet planted safely on the bottom rung, hands gripping the sides, SCAR thrown over her back via shoulder strap.

  So, why is she yelling at me?

  She points back towards the platform entrance, towards the two cops who helped us find our way. But it’s not the policemen that have her attention, it’s the gray specter pushing through them like a cheetah in the Serengeti.

  Kane.

  He’s limping, but still hauling ass, trying to catch up to us.

  “Move it, Nicole!” Kane shouts through his helmet, slightly muffling his words. He then pumps his arms and legs faster, picking up speed.

  My eyes go wide as I realize what he’s about to do. I grab Nicole by the back of her jumpsuit and pull, aiding in her ascent. Her upper body reaches me, her feet dangling off the edge of the accelerating train.

  Kane leaps.

  I curse.

  Nicole screams.

  Washington D.C., USA

  “Hold on Kane!” I yell, the wind whistling past my head. I’m still holding onto Nicole, who is only half on the roof of the rear car. Bouncing around at what I can only guess is fifty to sixty miles per hour, it takes everything we have just to hang on, let alone help each other.

  “No shit, Sherlock!” Kane yells back, the lower half of his body dangling off the back of the train like a worm on a hook. “What the hell do you think I’m doing?”

  The worst part is, that Kane is basically holding onto the ladder with one hand, the other one still severely injured from when the Jeep flipped and no doubt made worse during his fight with Brooks, which I haven’t had time to ask him about. He’s gripping the life out of the steel rung with his right hand, while he has his left wrist hooked, flexed as tight as he can.

  “Nicole!” I yell. “You’re going to have to slide back down and help him. I’ll help you as best as I can from up here.”

  She nods her head and begins to lower herself back onto the ladder as carefully as she can. Once she’s within an arm’s distance of Kane, she squats down and hooks her right elbow around the step in front of her. She then reaches down with her free hand and snags Kane under the armpit, pulling with everything that she has.

  Having followed her down onto the ladder, I reach out and grab her wrist, the one wrapped around the rung, and squeeze, not really sure if I’m doing anything more than adding to the weight on the ladder itself.

  Relieved of some of his weight, Kane flexes his left arm, pulling himself the rest of the way to the ladder. Then, he lets go with his good hand just long enough to grasp a rung above his head. He then pulls up again with his good arm and repeats the process with his bad one until he is high enough to get a booted foot on the bottom step.

  “Nicole!” I yell, trying to get her attention, but she doesn’t hear me. “Nicole!” I shout again, reaching out my hand. Forget it. I yank off my helmet and chuck it away, not watching where it sails, but knowing it’s long gone.

  “Nicole!” I shout for the third time, this time getting a reaction out of the woman. “Grab my hand! Let’s move!”

  She reaches up, thrusting her free hand into mine, as I pull her back up to a standing position. She lets go and makes her way up the ladder, followed by a hobbled Kane.

  Nicole climbs atop the train car and turns, helping me lift Kane onto the speeding train. With one final pull, we lean back, yanking the large man, up and over the edge of the caboose.

  Following my own lead, the two of them remove their helmets, tossing them overboard, the need for the over the top protection being over with. At least I hope it’s over with. Plus, communicating on top of a train that is mimicking near hurricane-force winds would be impossible with them on.

  “Okay,” Kane says. “Now what?”

  He’s hugging his left hand close to his body, which indicates to me that it got worse during the fight in the food court. I’m about to ask him what happened w
hen I remember watching him run towards us in his gray armor… We aren’t wearing gray armor. Which means…

  I don’t even need to think about the answer. I know what happened. We failed. Brooks released the darkness, killing hundreds if not thousands of people. How it didn’t reach the concourse is nothing short of a miracle. It still could, I think. And if it reaches the outside…

  One thing at a time. First, we need to stop this train and then Frost. I look forward seeing the front of the train off in the distance. And I don’t really care which order we do it in.

  I huddle up with the two of them so it’s easier for them to hear me. Screaming over the howling wind is hard enough, but doing it after going through what we did makes it feel like my lungs are going to explode.

  “Okay,” I say. “We can either drop down, inbetween the cars and make our way through that—”

  “And possibly running into more of Frost’s men,” Nicole adds.

  I nod, then continue, “Or we can stay on top of the train and jump from car to car like James freakin’ Bond.”

  This gets a smile out of Kane, then a wince as he clutches his hand.

  “You good?” I ask, concerned.

  He shrugs. “Does it matter?”

  It doesn’t.

  Neither one of us is in great shape, but he is most definitely in the worst. At least Nicole and I are in one piece…bones and all. But Kane... Let’s just say I don’t think he’ll be runnin’ and gunnin’ with both Desert Eagles for quite a while.

  Kane crouches, not being able to stand straight up because of the wind. “Let’s do this. Come on Oddjob,” he says to me, then turns to Nicole. “You too Puss—”

  “Don’t!” Nicole barks, but is unable to hold back her smile at the Bond Girl reference.

  Good ole’ Pussy Galore. Everyone’s favorite.

  43

  Washington D.C., USA

  Going the Bond route definitely saved us some ammo, but it killed us on time and energy. Worst case scenario, we show up at Frost’s locomotive doorstep a little winded instead of shooting our way through the cars below. That would be the worst case. The killing of more innocent lives at the hands of a shootout in close quarters.